Reviewed by David Levinson

THERE IS no modern romance, owl-glassed luminaries and angular femmeboys yawn in time, but the cult of passion has merely been sublimated to a ghost in the machine: he blogged, she blogged, and the no-wow phenomenon of co-ordinated myspace profiles . Those who throw back “we’re just fucking” with lightning reflex do so less out of bohemian quixotism, and more in testament to love’s finite reserve. Meanwhile, a million faces simultaneously masked by dayglo apples isn’t a sign of unified isolation: Technology disciplines and diversifies, and beneath the toecap of social gate-keeping, we still eggsit visions of happiness.

Reviewed by Shahir Daud

IN THE LEAD up to this year’s film festival, it’s important not to forget the Hollywood blockbusters playing at your local multiplex. After all, it would be easy not to notice that the world’s favourite man in tights has returned to the silver screen, this time as a pixel perfect Photoshop rendering. Superman has indeed returned, but like Lois Lane’s Pulitzer prize winning essay asks, does the world need him?